Snowed In
by Sophia Hawkins
Summary: Matt Casey woke up the morning after a blizzard with a hangover, in a strange bed, in a strange place with no recollection of what had happened the night before or who he had gone home with. The door creaked open and he turned his head to see who it was, and felt his eyes widen.
1. Chapter 1

Snowed In

Matt Casey's head felt like it was spinning. Everything felt like it was spinning. All he saw was a blurry white, his skin felt ice cold to the touch, even through his clothes he was freezing. He heard a low hum, and after a while he identified it as a car engine, and realized he was riding in a car, and he could feel a warm spurt of air hitting him but it did little to alleviate his sensation of freezing. He continuously rubbed his hands up and down his arms trying to get warm. He faintly recalled having a few drinks somewhere...somewhere...where? Molly's? No, the place had been different, but he didn't know where it was, and he didn't remember leaving. He knew he wasn't driving but his brain was too foggy to focus on who he was riding with then, or to even give it too much thought who he'd left the bar with.

During the ride he absently rubbed his hands together and occasionally breathed on them trying to warm up, all to no avail. Finally he felt the car stop somewhere, and heard the engine cut off. Somebody was talking to him but he couldn't identify the voice and he couldn't make out any of the words being said. He heard a door open, then close, then a few seconds later heard the door on his side open, and was met with a blast of cold air, but also somebody's hand on his wrist helping him out of the car. The snow blinded him as he was led up a sidewalk to a porch, and heard a door unlock and swing open, and was led inside. It was dark, but warm, but he was still freezing, his teeth were chattering, his legs knocked together.

"I'm cold," he said weakly, not even aware who he was saying it to.

He felt a pair of hands on his back and felt himself being turned, and led up a set of stairs. He didn't know where they were going, all he knew was he couldn't stop shaking and shivering. A few times he missed the step and almost fell, but whoever was with him kept a tight grip on him and made sure he stayed balanced. They reached the top and he felt a carpeted floor under him, but he had no idea where they were going.

A door opened, a light came on and blinded him again, he covered his eyes with his hands and groaned in pain as he was led over to the other side of the room. He heard a familiar sound of sheets rustling and then felt himself being pushed down on a bed. A set of hands grabbed his boot and pulled it off, then the other, then his socks, then he felt somebody grab the bottom of his shirt and pull it up and off over his head. Now he was really cold as he laid back against the cold sheets and continued moaning and shivering. A cold breeze swept over him just before something heavy draped over his body, and he slowly realized it was the top sheet and covers. They were cold too, but they also blocked out any further cold air, so that was a small relief. The sheets were soft and comfortable even if they weren't warm, and he found himself moaning in pleasure at how nice they felt against his skin. He rolled one way, then the other feeling the cotton move against him, it was comfortable enough but he tried to get his body comfortable enough to sleep. He felt a hum working up from his throat as he finally settled on his right side curled under the covers, he tried to say 'thank you' to the person who'd brought him there but he couldn't get the words to actually form.

Through the covers he felt a hand sharply pat him on the shoulder, then the lights went out and he was enclosed in darkness. He remembered nothing after that.

* * *

Matt Casey was aware of a dull throbbing in his head, a clear sign that he'd had too much to drink the night before. The rest of him however was nice and cozy in a soft warm bed and he felt like he could stay there forever. Against his eyelids he was aware of a sensation of a dim light from somewhere. That meant it was morning.

Casey half opened his eyes curiously. The room was dark, but it was light through the window because of the snow, though the sun wasn't out yet. He turned and faced the window that looked out into the snow-covered neighborhood, but it wasn't any neighborhood he'd seen before. He didn't recognize the houses down below, and for that matter, he rolled over the other way and looked around. He didn't recognize this room. Where the hell was he?

Not ready to get up just yet, Casey lay there in the silence and tried to think back to last night. He'd been drinking, and he'd left the bar with somebody, but who? He tried to remember but nothing was coming to him. It wasn't that he'd never woken up in a strange bed in a strange place before, but it always made him uneasy when he couldn't remember _who_ he'd gone home with, or for that matter _what_ had happened the night before. The whole bed was messed up but he woke up in the middle of it so that didn't offer any clues if somebody had actually been with him last night or not.

Slowly, groggily, he tried to push the covers back and get up but he was slow to move, even slower to think, he felt like his head was in a fog.

The door creaked open and Casey turned his head to see who it was, then he felt his eyes double in size and he felt awake and alert now as he sat up and saw Hank Voight standing in the doorway.

"Voight?" Casey was so dumbstruck that he couldn't even talk for a minute. He shook his head and asked the cop, "What's going on? Where are we?"


	2. Chapter 2

Hank Voight stepped over towards the bed and Casey saw he was holding a coffee mug.

"Here, drink this," the cop told him as he held it down to Matt, "you look like you need it."

"What is this place?" Casey asked as he absently took the coffee.

"This is Erin's old room," Hank answered.

Casey did a double take and tried to get actual words out, "What-you mean-this-this is your house?"

Voight nodded.

"You were pretty out of it last night," Hank told him. "And as hard as that snow was coming down I figured it'd be easier to bring you here and let you sleep it off." He walked over to the window and looked out to the street. "10 inches of snow out there, nobody's going anywhere until the plows come through."

Casey drank the coffee and raised a hand to his forehead that was starting to pulse. "What happened last night?"

"You got pretty loaded at the bar, the guy who works there thought you were one of mine and called me," Hank answered.

Casey turned too quick and made his headache worse. "One of _yours_?"

"Intelligence," Voight explained.

Matt closed his eyes and shook his head, "I don't even remember."

"I figured as much. Rough day?"

"Rough week," Casey replied as he took another sip of the coffee. He still didn't remember what happened last night, but he had enough presence of mind to know it was directly connected to the five dead kids they'd pulled out of fires and car wrecks that past week. Adults were bad enough to lose on a call, but you _never_ forgot the kids. No matter how many of them there were over the years, you remembered the faces of every single one of them.

Voight nodded, "Been there." He crossed back over towards the bed, patted Casey's shoulder in passing and said as he headed for the door, "Come on downstairs, breakfast is almost ready."

Casey did a double take and watched the Intelligence sergeant leave the room. This was too weird for him. He pushed back the covers, found his clothes and got dressed, made the bed and went over to the window and looked out.

Being from Chicago, he was well familiar with the snowstorms they got, and just how high the snow could get. He looked down and saw everything encased in white, saw a few faint indentions from where people had stepped into the snow off their porches. He hoped the snowplows came through soon.

Casey had never seen the upstairs of Voight's home, he'd only been there once and he'd only made it as far as the living room trying to kill the cop. He stepped out into the hall and looked around at all the doors. He stopped in his tracks and looked around at them all and tried to think. The room he'd just come out of was Erin's old room, Hank had told him...so, another one of these must be Justin's old room. He wondered...

He bit back on his temptation to open the doors and see what was there, he headed to the stairs and could smell bacon cooking when he was halfway down to the first floor.

"Hank?" he called out cautiously.

"In here," the cop's gravely voice called out from the kitchen.

Casey made his way through the dining room and into the brightly lit kitchen and saw Voight standing by the stove flipping a big pile of scrambled eggs in a cast iron skillet.

"Plates are over there," he pointed the metal spatula to the table, "Get ready to dish up."

"Oh-kay," Casey said slowly, taken aback by the sergeant's sudden hospitality, "Thanks...I think..."

On the table next to the plates and silverware was a plate loaded down with bacon and sausages. Casey dished up half of it on his plate and stepped over to the stove as Voight cut the burner off and dumped half of the eggs on his plate.

"Thanks," he said, still not quite sure what to make of all of this. As the cop piled the rest of the food on his own plate, Casey pulled out a chair at the table and sat down, and found himself looking around the room.

"What time is it?" he asked, still feeling a bit out of it.

"Quarter to seven," Hank answered as he sat down across from him.

"I don't...I don't know what to say," Casey said, "I don't even remember last night...uh...thanks, for coming to get me, you didn't have to-"

"If I didn't you'd probably be dead," Voight cut him off and pointed out.

Casey thought about it and nodded, "Yeah, probably." He slowly started to eat.

"Matt...where the _hell_ is your coat?" Hank asked him.

"Hm?"

It was only then he realized that it hadn't been upstairs with the rest of his clothes, and he faintly remembered how cold he'd been during the drive over there last night. He was freezing because he didn't have his coat.

"I don't know," he finally admitted. Had he left it at the bar? Wouldn't Voight have found it when they left then? Did he leave it in his truck? Had he been stupid enough to leave it at home before he went out?"

Voight made a grunting sound and asked him, "Casey, how old are you?"

"36," Matt answered.

Voight looked at him point blank for several seconds, then blinked, cocked his head to the side and asked, _"How?"_

Casey let out a small self conscious laugh and felt one side of his mouth smirk, "Very funny."

"Who's joking?" Voight replied.

"Uh...where's my phone?" Casey suddenly thought to ask.

"Probably wherever the hell your coat is," Hank answered, "you didn't have it last night."

"Oh man..."

"You due at work today?" Hank asked.

Casey shook his head, "Tomorrow."

"That's good, 'cuz there ain't no way you're getting out of here early," Voight said. "Anybody expecting you?"

"I don't think so."

The meal passed in silence after that, until Voight broke the silence, asking Casey, "How's the food?"

Casey did a double take and answered, "Good...thanks..."

"All these years..."

Casey hadn't expected a response and his eyes bugged out as he looked at Voight, who finished what he'd started to say, "After all the time Camille and I were together, I've never gotten the hang of cooking for one person."

Casey found himself nodding and responded, "Everybody at the firehouse has to be able to cook for about 2 dozen people...when I'm home and it's just me, I usually just order in. Even...even after Hallie and I broke up, it drove her crazy. She was always on my case that I needed to take better care of myself."

"She was a good woman," Hank said.

Casey nodded.

"So was Camille," he told Matt. "She put up with a lot from me."

Casey could see how that would be possible, but he kept that comment to himself.


	3. Chapter 3

Casey left the bathroom and noticed how quiet the house was. He looked around and didn't see Voight. He went from room to room and there was no sign of the Intelligence sergeant. Matt went to the front door and looked out, and stopped.

Out there he saw a figure dressed in black digging a path from the sidewalk out to the street, and going about it very slowly.

"Son of a bitch," Casey said.

He went back to the dining room, opened the coat closet and found a second coat, a pair of gloves and a ski-cap, quickly put them on, then headed out the front door. As the arctic cold air bit any and all of his exposed skin as he stepped outside, he saw Voight turn around, try to straighten his back, and noisily exhale a pure white cloud of vapor.

"What the hell are you doing out here?" he asked as Casey made his way down the steps.

"Do you have any idea how many people drop dead shoveling snow each year?" Casey asked as he marched out to the cop in the middle of the sidewalk where the one leading to his house met with the one that went up the whole block. He himself had a rough idea because they'd been called out to assist Ambo on several of those calls every winter.

"You have any idea how many cops get off with shooting someone for annoying them?" Voight replied.

"You can't clear all this," Casey said.

"I always do," Voight responded. He gestured to the long sidewalk and explained, "if there's not a path to walk through, they won't deliver the mail, and trust me, they _will_ be out in this later."

"Do you have an extra shovel?" Casey asked.

"Around back," Voight conceded.

Casey turned and headed back and made his way up the driveway, where a path had already been shoveled there too, and found the second shovel leaned up against the siding of the house. He headed back to the front and the two men spent the next half hour clearing the 10 inches of compacted snow so there was an actual footpath leading to the street for when the roads were plowed and could be driven on. The cold air bit Casey's skin every second he was out there, but gradually the physical labor made it too hot for him to wear the coat, he took it off but kept the gloves and cap on and kept shoveling. Voight grunted, and he breathed a little heavier in the winter air, but he also seemed to get a small chuckle at seeing Casey strip off the coat because he was sweating through it despite the temperature being 2-below.

Casey's nose was frozen to the touch and he'd lost all feeling in his hands even with the gloves by the time they were finished and headed back inside. His cheeks were bright red and felt frost bitten, but his whole sweatshirt was soaked with perspiration from shoveling the snow.

"I'll get another pot of coffee on," Hank said as he removed his coat, cap, gloves, scarf, and his snow boots.

Casey's teeth chattered and with a slight difficulty he got out, "Th-th-th-thanks."

"Hey, thanks for helping," Voight responded as he headed to the kitchen.

Once Casey had a chance to warm up he asked Voight, "So...what exactly do you do on a day off?"

Hank shot him a subtly ominous look that made Casey sorry he asked, then Voight's face resumed his usual expression and he answered, "Nothing you'd think of."

Casey looked around the house and tried to guess, but nothing was really coming to mind.

He didn't have to, Voight told him, "When Camille was alive she kept this place a showpiece." He looked around the living room and told the firefighter, "Now that she's gone it's my job, I don't trust anyone to come in and clean the place."

Well, Voight was right, Casey would definitely never have thought of that.

"You want some help?" he asked.

Voight looked at the younger man as if trying to decide if he was serious, he leaned to one side and looked Casey up and down and commented, "I can use you."

* * *

Casey was flashing on his days as a candidate when it was his job to clean every inch of the firehouse from top to bottom. He was quickly finding out that Hank Voight was a man of many surprises. Between the two men they'd spent the last two hours moving all the furniture to vacuum under everything, cleaning the chandelier, dusting the cobwebs off the ceiling and high up on the walls, cleaning the bathroom, dusting the banister, scrubbing the walls and the kitchen floor, de-greasing the stovetop, manually cleaning the oven, bagging up old newspapers and beer bottles for recycling, dusting the ceiling fans, and changing the tablecloth on the dining room table.

"This is what you do on your day off?" Casey asked when they were finally finished and he collapsed on the couch.

"Usually I get it done at night when I come home," Hank answered.

"Well I guess that'd make you exhausted enough to sleep," he replied.

Voight looked at him and asked, "Who sleeps?"

"Fair point," Casey said.

There was a pause between them before Casey looked at the Intelligence sergeant and asked him, "Hank...why'd you put me in Erin's room last night?"

"As opposed to down here where in your drunken state of mind you could've tried wandering out that door and into the blizzard, where you would easily have died of exposure within 2 hours?" Hank remarked.

Casey hadn't thought about it like that, he had to admit it made sense.

"Upstairs I would've heard you if you'd tried to get out," Hank answered, "It's why I put Erin back here after her mother got her hooks back in her. She wanted to come back to Intelligence, she had to stay here, pass daily drug tests, I had to make sure what she was doing. And there was never a way in hell for her to sneak out of here when I was across the hall listening."

"I see," Casey replied.

After another beat, Casey awkwardly said to Voight, "I don't know why you did what you did last night...but thanks."

The otherwise quiet of the morning was suddenly interrupted by the sound of heavy machinery making its way up the street. The two men looked out the front window and saw the flashing light of the city's snow plow as it made its way up the street and started to clear the road, followed shortly after by one of the city's salt trucks.

"Well, I guess I'll be getting out of here soon," Casey said.

"Give it half an hour, they got a lot of ground to cover," Voight told him.

"Can you drop me off at the bar so I can get my truck?" Casey asked.

"Assuming it's not buried," Hank said. "You got your keys?"

Casey reached in his pocket and pulled them out.

"So you can get in your apartment either way."

A small, knowing chuckle escaped the lieutenant, "Who needs a key for that?"

"This wouldn't be the best time to be kicking a door in, Matt," Hank reminded him.

"Hm, true."

"Is there someone I need to call for you?" Voight asked.

Casey shook his head, "I don't think so."

A while later Voight looked out the window, the streets were cleared and people were able to get out now. He went back to the living room, and stopped, and chuckled at the sight of Matt Casey sprawled over the couch cushions asleep, his head resting against the couch arm, and he looked dead to the world. Hank stepped over to the couch, the young firefighter never acknowledged his presence. Hank grabbed the quilt draped over the back of the couch and used it to cover up the lieutenant. Then he went into the kitchen, took out his phone, dialed a number, and waited.

"Hey Severide, it's Voight," he said, "by chance are you missing a blonde lieutenant?"

* * *

"Matt, wake up."

Casey felt somebody nudging his shoulder and he opened his eyes and saw Voight hovering over him.

"Huh...what is it?"

"Get up, I'm taking you home," he said.

"Wha? What time is it?"

"12:30."

"What?" Casey shot up from the couch, "Sorry, Hank-"

"No need to apologize, there's no harm done," Voight told him. He was holding the extra coat from his closet. "Put this on until you get back. You don't have the sense God gave a gnat, you know that?"

Casey wasn't sure how to respond to that, but he put the coat on and followed Voight out to his SUV, and they pulled out of there. Even with the worst of the snow cleared and the roads salted to melt any ice underneath the remaining snow, it was still a bumpy ride, but they made the trip back to Casey's apartment, and as they pulled up Matt looked out the window and saw somebody coming towards them.

"What the hell?" he asked.

The passenger door opened and he saw Kelly, bundled up like an Eskimo with just his face exposed to the winter air as he asked Casey, "Are you okay?"

"What're you doing here?" Casey asked.

"Voight called me."

"What?"

Matt turned to the cop, whose face gave absolutely nothing away.

"I'll see you around, Casey," was all he said.

Matt hopped out of the car and shut the door and the two firemen watched as Voight drove off. Casey turned to Severide and asked him, "What're you doing here?"

"Voight told me what happened last night," Kelly told him, "figured I better keep an eye on you."

"I don't need a babysitter, Severide."

"No, but after the week we've had, I think you could use a friend."

It was hard to argue with that logic.

"So what happened?" Kelly asked.

"What do you mean?" Casey asked.

"Staying at Voight's place, what'd he do to you?"

Casey thought for a minute how to answer that, all he came up with was, "Nothing like you'd think."

With that, the two firemen raced to get inside the apartment where it was warm and out of the snow as quick as possible.


End file.
